The Gulfs Will Wash Us Down
by TheGryfter
Summary: A journey through Rachel and Finn's relationship. Snapshots of who they were, are, and can be...
1. The Gulfs

A/N: Hey, guys. So... the reason for this story... for once I wanted to write a Finchel fic that didn't make me want to chew on the business end of a shotgun.

I've written two Faberry fics, and both times gave Rachel and Quinn a happy ending. I've written two Finchel fics, and both made me long for therapy.

And that's just not right for a Finchel fan.

So, this fic... It's a series of untold moments from Rachel and Finn's first meeting, to, I guess, where we left off at the end of season 3. I've tried to make it light, and funny, and sweet.

Let me know if I got it right.

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**Glee**

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** The Gulfs Will Wash Us Down **

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It may be, the gulfs will wash us down.

It may be, we shall touch the happy isles.

And though we are not now that strength,

Which, in old days, moved earth and heaven,

That which we are, we are…

Made weak by time and fate,

But strong in will.

To strive, to seek, to find,

And not to yield.

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**1. The gulfs will wash us down.**

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_September 03, 2009 – Astronomy Club – 15:45_

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"This is stupid!"

Rachel Berry fought to quell her rage. Keep it inside and resist the urge to smack those ridiculous bottle-bottom glasses off Marcia O'Grady's face.

"Just give it a chance," said Rachel, "If you look to the left, you'll see Ursa Major. Most people call it the Big Dipper. But–"

"How can we have Astronomy Club in the middle of the afternoon?" Marcia persisted, "This is kinda lame."

Other dissenting voices soon joined in the chorus;

"I think the picture's skew."

"My back hurts."

"That one over there kinda looks like my Uncle Ralph taking a hit from his bong."

"If you guys aren't going to take this seriously, then we aren't going to do it at all!" Rachel's shrill, and naturally powerful voice, cut through the clamour. Everyone shut up. Rachel turned her attention back to the ceiling.

The William McKinley High Astronomy Club – all of 5 members – were laying on the floor of the (mostly disused) choir room. Rachel had set up a projector hooked up to her laptop, and tilted it on its end so it pointed at the ceiling. She considered it one of her brighter ideas – and by her estimation, that was really saying something. With the lights off, the Discovery Channel's special on the movement of the constellations simulated the night sky, and with a little bit of imagination, it was like they were actually outside on a cloudless night.

As president of the Club, Rachel had thought it would be a fun break from building models of the solar system – or in Barry, the Perv, Grossman's case, building models of his own genitalia.

She should have banked on Marcia O'Grady having a problem with it. Marcia had a problem with everything.

"Now people always make that common mistake…" Rachel went on, "The Big Dipper isn't a–"

"You could at least have brought some pillows, or something," Marcia piped up.

Rachel bit her lip. "Did Galileo complain because his neck was sore?" she demanded, "Did Copernicus?"

"Who are they?" asked little Michael McNeil, "Teachers? I try to watch when they write their names on the board, but I always fall asleep before they finish."

"Oh, dear God…" Rachel muttered.

"No, dumbass!" said Regan Lebronski, a severely ginger kid with an acne problem, "They're the drummer and bassist for Kiss."

"What's Kiss?"

"A pop group. Like the Spice Girls."

"They are _not!"_ Rachel had to step in and stop this defilement of Rock & Roll history.

"Grossman, take off your jacket," said Marcia, "I can rest my head on it."

"But I'll get cold!"

"I don't care."

"I prepared a whole lesson," said Rachel, "And none of you are going anywhere until I've finished it!"

"Hey, you're not a teacher!" said Michael.

"Yeah, you can't make us stay here!" said Marcia.

"Oh, really?" Rachel's voice started dripping honey. The Club knew her well enough to read this as a danger sign, "Need I remind you that participation in this Club – as defined by it's president, yours truly, counts as extra credit toward your Science grade?"

Now they shut up for real. Rachel smiled to herself, and looked at the fake stars again.

"Where was I?" she said, "Oh yes, people think the Big Dipper is the constellation, but it's not. It's actually an _asterism_, which is a distinctive group of stars _inside_ the constellation of Ursa Major itself. Now-"

"Wait, really? The Big Dipper's an asteroid?"

Rachel frowned. That was a boy's voice, but not Michael's, or Barry's, or Regan's. She lifted her head from her prone position on the floor and squinted into the semi-darkness. The door was open, and she saw a tall silhouette filling it. Really tall.

She sat up. The silhouette took another step into the room, and she made out the distinctive colour of a McKinley High letterman jacket.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Finn Hudson."

He came even closer, and now that she saw his face, the question was rendered moot. Everybody knew the captain of the football team. Even as a sophomore, he was bigger than any of the seniors, and sucked the least when it came to chucking pigskin around on a field.

"Actually, er…" Rachel stumbled for a second, "It's not an aster_oid_ it's an aster_ism."_

"What's the difference?"

"Nobody writes disaster movies about stars that couldn't possibly be on a collision course with earth."

"Oh, right," Finn nodded, "Cool. How do you know so much about this stuff?"

"I'm the president of this Club," said Rachel.

"More like dictator," Marsha chimed in.

Rachel shot her a venomous look. For a second there she'd forgotten the others were even in the room.

"Are you interested in joining?" she asked Finn.

The handsome athlete shuffled his feet. "Uh, no," he said, "I saw the light underneath the door, and then I heard your voices, and I just wanted to see what was going on."

"Oh," Rachel felt a stab of disappointment deep in her stomach.

For some bizarre reason, it felt the same as that recurring nightmare she'd been having, where she was up for a Tony Award for Best Actress in a Broadway Musical, and Hugh Jackman won it instead, and then did his acceptance speech wearing Wolverine's yellow spandex tights from the X-Men cartoons.

"You can stay for the rest of the lesson," she tried one more shot.

"Thanks," said Finn, backing away, "I'd love to, but I got football practice. Coach Tenaka makes us do squats if we're late."

"Oh, okay."

"But it was nice meeting you," he said, then, drawing out the name, "Rachel."

"You too… Finn."

He left the room, politely closing the door behind him.

Rachel shut her eyes for a second, trying to regain the breath that had suddenly fled her.

She was snapped back to reality when Barry said, "My God, that was one good-looking man!"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Er…" Barry pretended to be studying the stars.

Rachel looked back at the door where Finn had just left. She found herself hoping he'd change his mind and come back. She waited for the moment.

It didn't come.

"Let's get on with this," said Marcia, "My shift at the Shop 'n Save starts in an hour, and I have to set up the Valentine's Day display."

"Valentine's Day?" said Rachel.

She'd completely forgotten about the upcoming _'Most Romantic Night Of The Year, brought to you by Hallmark and Pottery Barn'_ quasi-holiday.

"It's next Tuesday," said Michael, "Don't you have a date to the dance?"

"No," Rachel shook her head, "I wasn't planning on going. I have to update my blog and finish my _Phantom of the Opera_ collage for Craftmaker's Club."

"If you change your mind," said Regan, with a twisted smile, "We could maybe go together and–"

"Dammit, can we just do this!"

For once, Rachel was glad for Marcia's intervention. Rejecting Regan would have been awkward, since they had to see each other every week.

"Actually, you can all go," she said.

"What?" said Barry.

"Yeah, just… go. We'll do the lesson another time."

They didn't need a second invitation. Marcia was first out the door, followed closely by everyone else.

Rachel lay back down. Above her, the miniscule pixels that made up the stars of her fake night sky twinkled prettily at her, and she smiled. Because suddenly she was lost in them.

Only, she wasn't seeing Ursa Major, or Leo Minor, or Hydra, or Antlia…

No.

All she saw, was Finn Hudson's smiling face.

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	2. The Happy Isles

**2. We shall touch the happy isles.**

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_September 24, 2009 – Girls' Locker Room – 19:30_

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Finn Hudson couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous.

Maybe the time his mom found that copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_ under his mattress. Or the time Puck got him drunk and convinced him car-surfing naked past principal Figgins' house would be a bright idea.

No, not even those times compared.

His heart was trying to beat it's way out of his chest. His palms were so sweaty, it took him three tries before he managed to clasp the door handle.

And it wasn't just because he was sneaking into the girls' locker room at night – although, that would be reason enough – it was because of who was waiting for him on the other side.

Quinn Fabray.

Finn thought he had the most awesome girlfriend in the world.

Not only had she defied popular opinion, as well as her teammates on the Cheerios and joined Glee to be close to him, but she was also, like, super hot!

Seriously. That hair, those legs, that mouth…

Oh, God, now his knees were trembling.

Yeah, Quinn had her issues.

She could be self-absorbed.

And a little petty.

And mean.

And the only time Finn ever saw second base was watching baseball on ESPN.

But that was all about to change.

It all started with the note she slipped into his locker. It was just a folded piece of paper, and he wouldn't even have noticed it, except she'd sprayed some of her perfume on it. When he opened it up, his heart started the marathon.

"_I loved the song you sang for me in Glee today. Meet me in the girl's locker room after Cheerios practice. 19.30. It'll be empty. Q."_

It was finally going to happen. Frikkin' FINALLY!

Finn totally respected Quinn's choices, and was proud that she was an independent woman who decided what to do with her body, and blah blah blah, all that other garbage, but… it had been tough these past almost-six months. Tough to cool his jets whenever they were making out. He hated having to relive that moment when he'd hit the postman with his mom's car, just because that was the only thing that stopped him pulling the trigger.

The last time he had to do that was when he and Rachel were in the auditorium the other day and…

"No," he said, aloud, "No, Finn, you swore you weren't going to think about that. You're here to meet Quinn, not Rachel. Get your head in the game."

He eased the locker room door shut behind him. Most of the lights were off. He stood still. Dead still. Squinting into the gloom, ears straining to pick up any sound.

There was… something. But it was distant, and he couldn't make it out.

He was hesitant to investigate further until he was sure the place was empty. He took a couple of hesitant steps inside. The first thing that struck him was how nice the place smelled. Not like the guys' locker room. At all!

Also, everything was, like, packed away! No dirty towels and spare weights and socks littering the floor like the aftermath of Jockstrap Hiroshima. Instead, spare Cheerios uniforms hung neatly on pegs. Their equipment; batons, pom-poms, those modified confetti canons Coach Sylvester had ordered from the Israeli army, were all stacked according to frequent use in specially designed cabinets.

It was kinda freaking him out.

He didn't even realise he'd entered the room fully, stopping to examine a bucket of soapy water and a mop in the corner like a scientist studying an alien species, until he picked up the noise he'd heard when he first entered.

It was the distinctive hiss of a shower.

Finn stopped dead in his tracks. Why would anyone be in the…?

He almost fainted.

Quinn was in the shower. Quinn was _in_ the shower. _Quinn was in the shower!_

That meant she was… oh, sweet Jesus… naked!

He realised it must have been her plan all along. Why else would she ask him to meet her here this time of night? Granted, the locker room wasn't the spot he'd imagined for their first time, but who was he to argue?

Quick as a flash he had his shirt off, as he strode through the banks of lockers, headed for the showers in the next room. He tugged off his shoes. The socks went next. He had some difficulty with his pants, because he kept walking while trying to take them off, and almost stumbled head first into a bench. He managed to regain his balance as he reached the doorway.

A rush of steam hit him in the face, and brought with it a hint of apple shampoo. Finn grinned, and yanked off his boxers. He stepped into the room.

She must have been having an epic shower, because the room was so full of steam he couldn't even see what stall she was in. Obviously, she couldn't hear or see him. He padded inside.

He'd just located the running shower, when she started singing.

"_Dear diary…_

_Today I saw that boy. _

_And I wondered if he noticed me,_

_He took my breath away…"_

Finn's breath stopped too. It seemed like the whole world came to a halt. Because that wasn't Quinn's voice.

"_Dear diary…_

_I can't get him off my mind. _

_And it scares me, coz_

_I've never felt this way…"_

It was Rachel.

He'd only known her for like a month – through Glee – but he knew, somehow he just _knew_ that he'd recognize her voice if there were canons going off around him.

"_No one in this world, _

_Knows better than you do. _

_So, diary…_

_I'll confide in you."_

He didn't recognize the song. But then… he didn't have to. The feeling behind it inched into his soul. There was a longing in her voice, laced with unspoken sadness, that actually – against all logic – seemed to slow his heart rate.

Suddenly, all he knew, and all that mattered, was the song.

"_Dear diary,_

_Today I saw that boy._

_As he walked by,_

_I thought he smiled at me."_

He could see her now, faintly through the warm mist. She was standing with her back to the gushing jet of water, her head tilted back slightly as she rinsed her raven-kissed hair. Her eyes were closed.

She was as lost in the music as he was.

"_And I wondered,_

_Does he know what's in my heart? _

_I tried to smile,_

_But I could hardly breathe."_

Little rivulets ran down her cheeks, so it looked like she was crying. From the aching tone of her voice, Finn couldn't be sure there weren't real tears mixed in there as well.

He had the urge to gently wipe them away. Forever.

"_Should I tell him how I feel?_

_Or would that scare him away?_

_Oh, diary, tell me what to do._

_Please tell me what to say."_

He was moving closer. He wasn't aware of this. He wasn't aware of anything.

If Finn had ever paid attention in class, he might have been reminded about that story in the _Iliad_, where the sailors are lured to their doom by a siren's song.

Only this didn't feel like doom.

It felt like… something else.

"_Dear diary, _

_One touch of his hand…_

_No, I can't wait,_

_To see that boy again."_

Finn opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was like a spell. She'd stolen his voice, his reason, his… everything.

"_He smiled, and I thought my heart could fly._

_Diary, do you think that we'll be more than friends?_

_I've got a feeling we'll be so much more… than friends…"_

She trailed off, humming softly to herself as she finished rinsing her hair. It sounded more like a purr than anything else, and Finn felt something… stirring.

It was a slap back to reality.

Suddenly, he remembered he was very naked, and, at the same time, very… excited.

He choked. It must have come out as a strangled cry, because Rachel opened her eyes. She saw him, and screamed.

Finn screamed back.

Her voice rose to a shriek, and his became a squeal.

He turned to flee, and slipped on the damp floor. He skidded for a few seconds, like the Roadrunner did in those old cartoons; legs pumping furiously, but going nowhere, before he finally gained some purchase and skidded out the door, landing flat on his face.

He was up again in an instant, grabbing his boxers and tugging them on, as Rachel's distressed cries followed him back out into the locker room. He found his pants and his shirt, but for the life of him he couldn't remember where he'd discarded his shoes and socks.

"The hell with it!" Finn swore aloud, and blasted out into the hall barefoot.

He pulled on the shirt as he ran down the darkened hallway. He was still damp from the steam in the shower, and the chill autumn air hit him like a blow when he dashed outside.

But it didn't slow him down.

He spotted his car across the deserted parking lot and hustled toward it, ignoring the tarmac cutting into the soles of his feet.

"Finn?"

For the second time in mere minutes, he squealed. He put on the brakes, sharp stones digging into soft flesh, and squealed again. He whipped his head to the right, where the voice had come from.

"Quinn?"

"Where are you going?"

She was still wearing her Cheerios uniform, but had added a pink sweater in deference to the weather.

"I… I, uh…."

Finn couldn't get his breathing under control. Or his thoughts. All he could see was the outline of Rachel's petite body, being cascaded by the hot water. All he could hear was the pleading in her gorgeous voice as she sang.

"I'm sorry I'm late," said Quinn, "Coach sent me on an errand at the last minute. But you don't have to run away. I thought we were going to talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes, there's… something I need to tell you," she seemed inexplicably nervous all of a sudden, "It's… it's about Puck, and–"

"I'm sorry, Quinn," he cut her off, "But can we do this another time?"

"Why?"

"I just… I have to go, okay?"

"But–"

"See ya!"

He didn't give her a chance to finish. Instead, he dashed the last few yards to his car and wrenched open the door.

"Finn!" she called after him, "Come back here! And why aren't you wearing shoes?"

Ignoring her, Finn jumped in and gunned the engine. He caught a flash of her stunned face in his headlights as he took off, tyres smoking.

On any other day, he wouldn't be able to sleep knowing he'd upset Quinn.

But he knew there'd be something else keeping him from slumber tonight.

And that something, was Rachel Berry.

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A/N: For anyone interested, the song Rachel's singing is _Dear __Diary_ by Britney Spears, off the _Baby, One More Time_ album. Give it a listen. It's beautiful.


	3. That Strength

**3. That Strength**

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_December 09, 2009 – Boys' Locker Room – 16:00_

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Finn's hands were bleeding, and he didn't even notice.

He unleashed punch after punch at the rough surface of the punching bag, feeling the satisfying heft of it jolt all the way up his arm, through his shoulders, down his back. Each blow releasing a tiny fraction of the tension that still coiled inside him.

But only a fraction. He was starting to doubt that anything would ever get it all out.

"What are you doing?"

Finn was startled, but just for a second. "This is the boys' locker room," he said.

Rachel stepped up next to him, like she hadn't heard. She was wide-eyed, her eyes focused on his hands.

"You're bleeding."

"What?"

Finn stepped back. He looked at his hands. She was right.

"And what's that?" asked Rachel.

She pointed at the bag. There was a piece of paper tacked to it, at Finn's eye-level. Needless to say, this was in another stratosphere to Rachel, and she could barely make it out. Also, it was covered in blood.

"It's a picture of Puck," Finn admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

Rachel sighed. He'd noticed that she did that a lot. Especially around him. Probably better not to question why.

"Come here."

She took his hands in hers. She didn't seem to mind the blood. She led him over to a bench and sat him down.

"Now wait," she commanded.

Finn rested his elbows on his knees, trying to get his breath back, as Rachel disappeared into the showers. She re-emerged a couple of minutes later, carrying a helmet upside-down.

"I couldn't find a bucket, or anything," she explained, "This will have to do."

She sat down beside him, keeping the helmet carefully balanced between her knees, and Finn saw that it was filled with water. Next, she reached for her oversized bag, unzipped it, and started hauling stuff out.

"What's that?" asked Finn, as she squirted a generous amount of some foul-smelling liquid in the water.

"Antiseptic oil," she answered.

She tore off a strip of cotton wool from a full roll that she got somewhere inside that bag, and dabbed the end in the water. She used this to wipe the blood from his hands. Finn winced, and groaned, and grimaced, as the antiseptic set flame to the cuts on his knuckles.

"Don't be such a baby!" Rachel chided him.

"It hurts, okay?"

"Well, next time you'll remember that they invented gloves for a reason!"

Finn smiled, despite himself.

With the cuts cleaned, Rachel removed a box of band-aids and tore off several strips. She carefully applied one to each cut. Finn noticed that they had little pictures of Garfield on them. He smiled again.

She noticed.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing," said Finn, "It's just… Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She finished with the band-aids. Finn flexed his hands. They only stung a little.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, "Coz you feel guilty? For telling me about Puck and Quinn?"

"I don't feel guilty," said Rachel, "I'm doing this because you're hurt. And if there's something I can do about that, then… well… that's what I'm going to do."

"I don't think you can make me stop hurting," said Finn, his voice grave.

Truth be told, punching a picture of Puck was poor compensation. He pictured again the flushed face of his former best friend. Felt his soft flesh crumpling under the weight of his blows as he unleashed all his fury on him that morning in Glee Club. Even that hadn't helped.

Finn came back to the present when he noticed Rachel was quiet. She was never quiet. She was just sitting there. Watching him.

"What?"

Rachel took a breath. Finn tensed.

_Here it comes, _he thought, _She's going to try and tell me it'll all be okay. That I'll get over Quinn. That I'll get over what they did to me. Everyone keeps trying to tell me that, but they don't know what the hell they're talking about. _

Rachel was frowning, her eyes on a spot just over his shoulder. He could tell she was really struggling to find the words.

He opened his mouth to tell her not to bother, when she said:

"So, a duck walks into a bar…"

"What?" Finn was completely thrown.

"Just listen," said Rachel, her face still a study in concentration, "A duck walks into a bar. He takes a stool and asks the bartender for a glass of whiskey…"

"What is going on?" asked Finn.

"And the bartender thinks to himself, _Gosh! A talking duck!"_

"Gosh?" Finn chuckled, "He said _gosh?_ Was this a bartender in the Archie comics?"

"Shut up!" said Rachel, "Being a professional, the bartender got him his drink. Then he noticed the duck seemed kinda depressed…"

"How does a duck look depressed?"

"I don't know!" Rachel rolled her eyes, "Maybe it's feathers are all ruffled, or something! God! It's a joke! Will you let me tell it?"

"I'm sorry," said Finn, straining to contain his laughter, "Go on."

Rachel nodded, "So the bartender asks the duck, 'Hey, what's wrong?" And the duck.."

"The _talking_ duck…"

"The duck says his job is getting to him."

"The duck's got a job?" Finn feigned shock, "In this economy?"

Rachel suddenly grabbed his hand, pressing her thumb down hard on a band-aid, squishing the cut underneath. Finn yelled. Rachel smiled.

"He tells the bartender he's a bricklayer at the construction site down the road," she went on, "And all day it's the same old grind. Applying the cement, laying the brick…" she shot Finn a hard look, "And if you ask me how a duck can possibly lift a brick, I swear to God…!"

"Actually, I was gonna go with how does he mix cement, but carry on."

"The bartender takes sympathy on him, and buys him another drink on the house."

"Lucky duck."

"Then the bartender excuses himself to make a call."

Rachel stopped. Finn waited. Still, she didn't say anything.

"Well…?" he asked.

"I was waiting for your next smart-ass remark," she said, "That seems to be the pattern here."

"When I have one, I'll let you know."

She rolled her eyes again. "Anyway, the bartender calls information, and gets the number of the nearest circus."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Finn, "There can't be any _nearest_ circus."

"Why not?"

"Coz they move around all the time," he explained, "Fargo, one can never be _nearest_."

"Ergo."

"What?"

"Nevermind! It doesn't matter! He calls a circus!"

"Are you always this worked up when you tell a joke?"

"Are you always this annoying when you hear one?"

"Always," Finn nodded.

She almost laughed. He could see that. It was right there. But she gathered herself again, and powered on:

"He gives the owner of the circus his address and tells them he has a talking duck in his bar. They better send someone right over. The owner's all excited and tells him to stall the duck until they get there."

"He should probably just throw like a butt-load of breadcrumbs on the bar," said Finn, with authority, "That'd work."

"Or ply him with more alcohol," said Rachel.

"Right," Finn agreed, "This duck does seem to be kind of a booze-hound. Or booze-duck. I dunno, how does that work?"

"Does it matter?"

"The devil's in the details."

"He buys the duck another shot," said Rachel, "But now he notices that the duck just seems to be getting more and more depressed."

"I can see it now!" said Finn, excitedly, "He's got his beak in the glass, all hunched over, refusing to even lift his head. Sorry, I was wrong earlier. A duck can totally look depressed."

"Thank you very much," said Rachel, "Now the bartender takes pity on him. Decides to perk up his spirits."

"Here come the breadcrumbs."

"He tells the duck not to worry about his job. He explains that he called the circus, and they're sending someone over. They'll have a new job for him."

"No breadcrumbs?"

"No breadcrumbs."

"Well, what does the duck say?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the duck finally lifts his head, kinda gives the bartender a funny look. And before you say anything, it's just a funny look, okay?"

"Okay."

"And the duck's all surprised, 'A circus?' he asks, like he's never heard of one in his life."

"I think the duck's wasted," said Finn, "What do they weigh, like ten pounds? Three whiskey's in a body that size, and–"

"The bartender says 'Yes, a circus,'," Rachel was just ignoring him now, "And the duck's even more confused. 'You mean, that big tent thing, sand in the middle, wooden benches all around?'."

"Definitely drunk."

"So the bartender says yeah, and the duck just shakes his head and says, 'Well, what the hell do they need a bricklayer for?'."

There was silence. An infinity of silence.

Rachel watched Finn's face, a fragile eagerness building up inside her. Finn's eyes were darting from side to side, unfocused, like he was trying to do long division in his head.

"Well…?" Rachel prompted.

"Was that it?" asked Finn.

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah…" she said, softer this time, with a trace of hurt.

Finn snorted. He tried to hold it in, but he couldn't. It built up, like steam lifting the lid of a pot, and he burst out laughing.

A smile blossomed on Rachel's face as she watched him. He bent forward, hands planted on his knees, wheezing for breath as he roared with laughter.

"You really think it's funny?"

"No…" Finn felt like his chest would burst, "No… that was… that was the worst… joke… I ever… heard…"

Rachel gasped, and smacked him upside the head. For some reason this only made him laugh harder. She folded her arms, and started tapping her foot, waiting for him to finish.

It took a while.

Eventually, when Finn was wiping the tears from his eyes, she stood.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"My job here is done," she said.

"Your job?"

"Well, it may have been the worst joke you ever heard," said Rachel, "But for five minutes there, you didn't feel like Quinn and Puck ripped your heart out, did you?"

Finn was struck dumb for a second. He gaped at her. She was smiling her own little secret smile.

Suddenly, it was like he was in on the secret, and the smile he gave back to her was filled with gratitude.

"Huh…" he said, "Waddaya know?"

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	4. Old Days

**4. Old Days**

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_June 05, 2010 – Auditorium – 11:55_

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Kurt was the problem.

Well, one of the problems. The other problem was they didn't realise he was the problem until it was too late.

"Brittany! What are you doing?"

"I'm just trying something."

"Why? You're not supposed to move!"

"Well, remember that big speech you gave before, about how we all have to find our motivation…?"

"You're a tree."

"Trees have motivation."

"I know I'm going to regret this, but… what motivation could a tree possibly have?"

"To touch the sky faster."

"Is that why you're making that noise?"

"Yeah, I mean… if you speed it up, the sound a tree really makes is _vroom!"_

"Somebody kill me! Kill me now!"

"Calm down, Kurt."

Finn stepped forward. Which was an accomplishment in itself in a full-length chicken suit. He stood in front of Kurt and lifted his arms (wings), gripping the smaller boy by the shoulders.

"You can't take this so seriously," said Finn, through the gap in the open beak where his face was, "Maybe if you lighten up, we'd enjoy this."

Kurt glared at him.

"Lighten up?" he repeated. Then, louder, "_Lighten up?_ We are on in two days, and you expect me to lighten up?"

"Well, yeah, I think…"

But Kurt wasn't done. "I have a tree that thinks it's in a race, a Minnie Mouse who hasn't stopped crying, my Popeye is in a wheelchair and Scooby-Doo hasn't taken off his costume for four days because he's hiding from the police! So, please Finn, tell me how I'm supposed to lighten up!"

"Hey, this whole thing was your idea," Finn pointed out, "You wanted to do this tribute to the cartoons of our childhood…"

"Because everyone's been so depressed lately."

"And getting screamed at by someone who looks less like a porcelain doll, and more like a Chucky doll everyday isn't helping," said Santana.

"Shut up, Pocahontas!"

"That's it!" Santana threw down her script and stormed across the stage in her faux deerskin loincloth and bra, "I am gonna go all Lima–"

"–Heights Adjacent on my ass," Kurt finished for her, "Yeah, I've heard it." He clapped his hands, "Places, people! Places!"

Santana made a funny noise in the back of her throat. It was like an angry whine. Finn spotted her clenching her fists and grabbed her before she could launch herself after Kurt, who started berating Mike for complaining about dancing in glued-on duck feet.

"Just let it go," he whispered to her.

Santana glared at Kurt, but returned to her place.

"First positions!" yelled Kurt, "And… _action!_"

Quinn and Rachel took their places in the centre of the stage. Rachel got down on all fours, and mimed scrubbing motions.

"Cinderella!" Quinn, looking like a down and out New Jersey housewife, put on her best nasal screech, "Cinderella, did you pick up my suede outfit from the drycleaners?"

"Yes, mother," said Raggedy-Rachel from the floor.

"Did they get the stain out? Because if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, not to let me drink wine-coolers when I'm wearing suede!"

"They got the stain out."

"Good! And pick up all those cigarette butts, I've got a date coming over tonight." Suddenly, Quinn spun toward Kurt, "Can I lodge a protest again? I don't see why I have to be the evil stepmother, when she gets to be Cinderella."

"Hello!" Kurt yelled, "You're pregnant! Do you think Prince Aladdin could even get that glass slipper on your foot with the way your ankle's swollen?"

Quinn screeched, and chucked her script at him. Kurt yelped, and ducked into a cowering heap on the floor.

Artie rolled forward. He had a pipe in his mouth, a sailor's hat on, and padded stockings on his arm's mimicking muscles.

"Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk…" he did his best Popeye, "I think we all need to take five!"

"Good idea," Finn agreed.

The cast started trooping off stage. Finn noticed Rachel scurry into the orchestra pit where she kept her bag. She took out her My Little Pony lunchbox and went to sit by herself on the far-end of the front row. Finn waddled over, and sat two seats down from her. He opened his own Bo Jackson lunchbox and they ate in silence.

Meanwhile, Mike (Donald Duck), Puck (Scooby-Doo), Matt (Prince Aladdin), Santana (Pocahontas), and Brittany (The Tree-In-A-Hurry) took seats a few rows behind them. It was hard to ignore their conversation.

"Which cartoon character would you have sex with?" asked Puck, his voice muffled by the Scooby mask.

"Easy," said Mike, "It's–"

"Do _not_ say Jessica Rabbit!" Matt interjected.

"Why not?"

"Way too obvious."

"Even I'd do her," said Santana.

"Me too," said Brittany.

It was silent for a moment as they all went to their special place to picture this.

"Fine," Mike sighed, "April O'Neil from the Ninja Turtles."

"Good one," said Puck.

"Bill Cosby!" said Brittany.

"He's not a cartoon," Santana pointed out.

"You can't prove that."

"Puck? You?" asked Matt.

"Wilma Flintstone."

At this, Finn finally turned around. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," said Puck, "She was like… the original MILF. Like Stone-Age original. Plus, I always wondered if she could make me see stars without hitting me over the head with a frying pan."

Everyone chuckled at this. Finn turned back round, and noticed that Rachel wasn't even smiling.

Making up his mind, he closed his lunchbox and scooted over so he was sitting next to her. She didn't react. It's like she didn't even notice him.

"Wanna trade?" he asked, "I got tuna fish."

Rachel frowned at him. "What are we, in the second grade?"

"Look at us," said Finn, "For today, we are."

"No, thank you," said Rachel, "I'm fine."

"Okay."

He returned to his lunch, but stayed next to her. They kept catching fragments of what had turned into an argument behind them.

"No! Ariel was sexier _before_ she made the trade to stop being a mermaid and become human!"

"Dude, that is a different level of sick!"

"Do you think mermaids ever have showers?"

That was from Brittany. Still, nothing from Rachel. Finn was really starting to worry about her.

"This is all for you, you know?" he said.

"What?"

"We're doing this for you."

"Why?"

"Well, because, you know…" he shrugged. It looked ridiculous coming from a six-foot plus chicken, "You've been kinda down lately, and…"

"I'm not depressed," Rachel spat, "I'm just _focused!_ I want to crush Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals!"

"You know, you kinda sound like the crazy fat chick from Misery when you talk like that."

"If this stupid cartoon musical is what it takes to get the group loose and prepared for next week, then so be it."

"It's not stupid," Finn protested.

Rachel ran her eyes slowly, pointedly, up and down his costume. And at that moment:

"Come on!" said Puck, "Miss Piggy would totally take Daisy Duck in a fair fight!"

"Okay, so maybe it's silly," said Finn, "But it's not stupid. I know none of us can ever imagine what Jesse did to you…"

"All those screaming unborn chicken babies…" Rachel shuddered.

"But we're all here for you."

"Even you?"

"Of course!" Finn sounded offended.

"I expected you to say _I told you so."_

"Well, I _did,"_ Finn pointed out, "But it doesn't matter. We're not going to let them get away with it."

"I should have expected it," said Rachel, "He's Jesse St. James. He's a star. And I'm–"

"You're what?" Finn demanded. When she didn't answer, "What? Come on, what are you, Rachel?"

"I'm nothing."

He could barely hear her. Her voice was so soft, so broken.

"Don't do that," said Finn, earnestly, "Okay? Not with me. You're a star too, and you know it. Don't let Jesse take that from you."

"Cinderella!" Kurt's voice suddenly rang out from the stage, "Come on! We're going to do the scene where you cry over the comments Josie and the Pussycats posted on your MySpace page!"

Rachel sighed, and put her lunchbox away. She stood, but before heading back to the stage, she turned to Finn.

"I'm done fighting the truth," she said, "You didn't love me, and neither did he. So what does that say about me?"

Finn could only watch as she headed up the stairs to the stage. A memory flashed into his mind, and he absently rubbed at the skin on the back of his hand. Skin that was once split and bleeding from too much anger. Skin she'd knitted back together while she healed the hole inside him.

He wondered why he couldn't return the favour.

"Chicken…" he muttered.

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	5. Earth & Heaven

A/N: This has to be one of the strangest chapters I have ever written for anything ever. I don't know where it came from. I'm usually just a glorified typist for the voices in my head and, well, I hope it's entertaining...

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**Earth & Heaven**

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_November 30, 2010 – Astronomy Club – 20:45_

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"How could you do this to me?"

"It was a mistake! Maybe we should go to another counseling session with Miss Pillsbury."

"You can't have couples' counseling if you're not a couple."

"You're breaking up with me?"

"What you did was really bad, Rachel. And you knew how sensitive I'd be about this after what happened with Quinn!"

"You said you'd _never_ break up with me!"

"I never thought you'd make me feel like this."

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"_I'm so close to my goal, Journal. _

_They say an enemy is at it's weakest when it's at it's most confident. That is the moment to strike. And today's fluke "win" for the Glee Club presents just such an opportunity. Believe me, Journal, the quotation marks are necessary. McKinley's band of caroling-carnies was allowed to progress to Regionals along with that group dedicated to the memory of Freddie Mercury in his days at Eton - the Wramblers I think they're called. _

_Can you imagine that, Journal? Joint-first place. As you well know there is no such thing! Not in the language of Sue Sylvester. _

_And yet Will Schuster is strutting down these halls, clutching his pathetic replica trophy and pretending he proved some kind of point. All it proved was that without Screechy the Jewish Dwarf and Frankenteen taking the lead, his pathetic group of National Bandstand rejects can only win if they suck just a little bit less than the other team. _

_On that note, Journal, what has happened to Quinn Fabray? I used to believe she was my heir-apparent. She had a fierceness in her that almost made up for the tapioca skin and stringy hair. Now she's happy cavorting on stage playing the Patrick Swayze to Sam-Hoover-mouth-Evans' Jennifer Grey. It's sad to see the evidence of just how low Glee can bring you being played out before my very eyes. These stunning eyes that Al Brokaw once called The Aquatic Jewels of the Midwest. _

_At least, it won't be for long. If consistency of character is anything to go by, Rachel Berry will not stand being shunted to the background like every other member of N'Sync who isn't the one with the afro. And without her there to constantly buck him up, her gangly boyfriend Finn Hudson will soon fade into the rut of mediocrity that was marked out for him since birth. And with the two of them gone, my dreams will come to fruition like…_

_Excuse me, Journal. Something's distracting me. _

_If I'm not mistaken, someone's crying nearby. I've trained myself to pick up the sound of weeping children from 500 yards away, much the way Stevie Wonder trained himself to pick up the sounds of police whistles in the 80's. _

_I should investigate!_

_._

_._

Sue put her pen down and closed her journal.

The reading-lamp on her desk offered the only light, and she turned in her chair, glancing out into the darkened hallway.

There it was. The sound.

She left her office, tracking the sound like a bat navigating by radar – down the hall, a left, another left, and…

There.

A door, slightly ajar.

Sue crept closer. There was no one here this time of night, except Jimmy, the janitor. But Sue already knew what Jimmy sounded like when he mainlined a fifth of bourbon and cried over his old Teen Beat magazines about how Keri Russell broke his heart when she cut her hair.

This wasn't Jimmy. This was someone else.

She reached up, and slowly inched open the door. The sound of crying stopped. The room was dark, except for a beam of light rising from a desk, and splaying out onto the ceiling. She could just barely make out a figure on the floor.

"What in the name of William H. Macy is going on in here?" she demanded.

"Uh… Coach? Sorry, I uh… I didn't know anyone would be here this late."

"Chewbacca?"

Sue stepped fully into the room. Now she could see that the light was coming from a projector, only it was pointed at the ceiling instead of a screen. It was playing some kind of movie showing the constellations.

And Finn Hudson was on the floor, crying to himself.

"I know teenagers are into strange things," said Sue, "Believe me, I watch Fox News. But this is something else."

"Uh, it's not what you think," said Finn, shuffling to his feet.

"Really?" Sue cocked an eyebrow, "You're not lying here in the dark, weeping to the sweet narration of Richard Attenborough?"

"No, I was, but… it's not…" Finn gaped a little, "I'm just going to go."

He made to hurry past her, but she put up a hand and stopped him.

"No. Sit." she commanded, "But first, switch that thing off."

She turned on the lights while Finn cut the power to the projector. Then he reluctantly took a seat. Sue regarded him. The kid looked terrible. His eyes were swollen, his cheeks were red and he was still sniffling.

"What happened, Treebeard?" she asked.

Finn took time off from looking miserable to look puzzled. "Who?"

Sue sighed. "Treebeard. The talking tree from the Lord of the Rings?" when he still looked confused, "Look, I understand that reading anything more than a cereal box causes your mouth to cramp up from forming out the words, but the fact that you haven't even watched the movies is just sad…"

"Can I please go?" Finn begged, "I just… really wanna be alone right now."

"What's the matter? Did you break up with that harpy of a girlfriend of yours?"

The look Finn shot her was filled with so much venom that Sue actually took an involuntary backward step. It was more than a surprise. The last time Sue Sylvester took a backward step was in Sunday School when Sister Mary-Whatsits demonstrated just what halitosis was.

"Don't call her that!" Finn spat.

"Easy there, Stretch," she put up a conciliatory hand, "Tell me what happened."

"No offense, Coach," said Finn, "But you're the last person I want to talk to about this."

"I suppose you'd rather talk to your feaux-daddy Will Schuster," said Sue, with a smile, sitting down beside him.

"Nah, can't talk to Mr. Schu either," said Finn, "Guys aren't supposed to admit that… that…"

"That they're hurting?"

Finn nodded. Sue chuckled.

"Well, listen up, Reed Richards, because Sue Sylvester's about to drop some atomic grade knowledge on you…"

"Who's Reed Richards?"

Sue could have slapped him in that moment. It was with the utmost restraint that she held back and carried on with her speech.

"Men are stupid," Sue declared, "That's not exactly a bombshell, I know, but the thing men themselves don't realise is they have a choice to be otherwise. I know what you boys are like. You slip on that lettermen jacket and you have to walk these halls pretending nothing gets to you. That you're a star. That you're untouchable. But five feet of Jewish precociousness with the voice of an angel can reduce you to a mewling wreck, sitting in a dark room, trying to figure out why Josh Groban writes songs about you. But it doesn't have to be that way, White Shaq. You can choose to open up to somebody. You can let it out. It does no one any good keeping the hurt inside."

"You know what's funny?" said Finn, "That sounds like something Rachel would say."

"Oh, please don't insult me!" Sue was offended, "Your streaky freckled face caught me by surprise, and I thought we were having a moment here."

"She cheated on me, Coach!" Finn choked up, "The one person I thought would love me forever, and she–"

The dam burst. Finn's whole body shook as the tears overcame him. He crumpled in on himself, sobbing like the little boy he still somehow was.

Sue just stared at him. She couldn't move.

This was her moment. One perfectly guided verbal missile and she could wreck Finn Hudson, and with it, the Glee Club. Forever.

Finn was trying to breathe, but the tears were leaking into his mouth. Sue reached out a hand, and grabbed his shoulder. With surprising strength, she lifted the boy until he was sitting up straight. With her other hand, she turned his face so he was looking at her.

"If I teach you nothing else in this world, Finn Hudson, know this…" she said, "That everything, even this pain you're feeling, will pass."

With that, she laid a gentle hand on the back of his head, and drew him down so he was resting on her bosom. His tears left little drops on her tracksuit, and for the first time in forever, Sue Sylvester didn't care.

She just cradled him, and let him cry… into the night.

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	6. That Which We Are

A/N: I was wrong... _this _is the strangest thing... sigh.

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**That Which We Are**

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_May 05, 2011 – Choir Room – 15:30_

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"Are you sure Quinn will be okay with this?" asked Rachel.

Finn tried not to meet her eye. "Uh, yeah…" he said, "Sure, I mean… yeah."

"Wow, way to sound confident," Rachel muttered.

"Quinn's changed," Finn tried to explain, "She's not as–"

"–insane?"

"–jealous as she used to be."

"Still," said Rachel, "I can't really picture her being over the moon about us singing a duet together."

"She totally will be," said Finn, "I promise. What song are we going to sing?"

"You Make Loving Fun."

"That's from _Rumours?_"

"It was the last 45 released for the album."

"What's a 45?"

Rachel ignored the question. "Stevie Nicks didn't sing the lead for this one," Rachel explained, as she handed him the sheet music, "Christine McVie did. She wrote it. It was about an affair she had with the band's lighting director, Curry Grant."

"Wait, it's about an affair?"

"Well, considering our nighttime jaunts to stake-out that motel where Sam's been meeting his suitors, I thought it appropriate to add some pathos to this week's Glee assignment."

"Do you wake up and read a thesaurus every morning?"

"Come on," said Rachel, "Let's try it."

She signaled the piano player. The notes tinkled out, and she sidled up closer to Finn, who was peering intently at the sheet music.

Rachel started it off…

"_Sweet, wonderful you,_

_You make me happy with the things you do._

_Oh, can it be so?_

_This feeling follows me wherever I go."_

She gave Finn a nudge and an encouraging little smile. He took up the second verse.

"_I never did believe in miracles,_

_But I've a feeling it's time to try._

_I never did believe in the ways of magic,_

_But I'm beginning to wonder why."_

He was frowning. Maybe it was because he didn't know the song, and had to really concentrate to do it on the fly. Whatever the case, Rachel didn't care. She was singing with Finn again, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes.

She was back where she belonged.

"Uh, Rachel…"

She carried on singing:

"_Don't… don't break the spell,_

_It would be different, and you know it will._

_You… you make loving fun._

_And I don't have to tell you, that you're the only one…"_

"I don't think I can do this."

The music stopped, and Finn stepped away. Rachel felt a tug inside as he broke out of her orbit. That sudden space that she knew she would never get used to.

"Why not?" she asked.

"It's these lyrics," he waved the papers in his hand, "They're a little… inappropriate."

"But you just said Quinn would be fine with it."

"I know, but… I don't think we should antagonize her on purpose."

"I'm not trying to antagonize her."

"Really?"

"Yes!" Rachel was growing angry, "I just want to sing with you again, is that so terrible? How insecure does she have to be to have a problem with that? We were the original pairing in Glee Club! Me and you! Long before Little Miss Perfect Prom Queen came along, and–"

"Stop, okay?" Finn pleaded, "Please, just… I think we should have this conversation in private."

"There's no one else here."

"Er… hello?" the piano player raised his hand.

Rachel blinked at him. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't realise you were still here."

"You know what? That's it!" the bearded man stood up so quickly, he sent his stool crashing to the floor, "I already had one of you kids in here today calling me furniture!"

"Who did that?" asked Finn.

"The Spanish girl with the temper!"

"Santana?"

"Do you know I almost went to Julliard?" he asked, "Yeah! And now I spend my days playing the piano for a bunch of spoilt-brat kids who think they're the first, last and only people to ever have any problems in this world, and I'm sick of it!"

"We… don't think that…" said Rachel.

"I've been watching you!" he declared, "Since the beginning! Yeah! I've been sitting right here while you kids go round and round with each other like a case study for ADD! Do you know what your problem is?"

"I, uh…"

"Dawson's Creek!"

"What?"

Rachel looked at Finn, blank. Finn looked at Rachel, blank. They both looked at the piano player, double-blank.

"That show has ruined your entire generation!" the man declared, "It made you believe that the relationships you have in high school actually matter! That there's such a thing as soulmates, and that you'll end up together in the end! You two are the perfect example!"

"Us?" Rachel was taken aback, "Why?"

"You're Dawson and Joey," he said, "And Quinn? She's Jen. Even down to the blonde hair. When you were with the evil-looking kid with hair like Will's bastard son–"

"Jesse?"

"You kept turning to him!" he pointed an accusing finger at Finn, who shrank back, "And now that you are back with Quinn, who was your original girlfriend, by the way, just like Jen was Dawson's original girlfriend, you keep coming back to her! And you know what? It's stupid! Even in the show, Dawson and Joey didn't end up together! She ended up with Pacey!"

"Dude, you know way too much about that show," said Finn, with feeling.

"Wait a minute," said Rachel, "Does that mean I'm going to be with Puck? I don't want to end up with Puck!"

"No!" he slapped all the sheet music off the top of the piano in frustration, "You don't end up with either of them! It's just a TV show! It's fictional! You're going to grow up, graduate, move away, meet a nice guy with a steady job and pump out some kids, and your life will just… be. That's how it works."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Rachel, "But… I don't believe that."

"Of course you don't," he said, "You can't. That's what makes it so sad."

He turned on his heel and, doing a remarkable Rachel impression, stormed out. Finn and Rachel just stared after him, gobsmacked.

"Well…" said Finn.

"Yeah…" said Rachel.

"That was…"

"I know…"

"No, I mean, it like totally was…"

"I know."

After a couple of moments of silences, they faced each other again.

"I think maybe you're right," said Rachel, "We shouldn't do the song."

"Okay."

"Did you ever watch that show?" she asked, "Dawson's Creek?"

"Yeah. I got it on DVD."

"I didn't know that."

"I used to hide all my embarrassing DVDs before you came over."

"Oh…"

"Did you?"

Rachel blushed. "I used to write Dawson's Creek fan fiction and post it on the internet."

"That is so lame."

She laughed.

"Favourite part?" he asked.

Rachel considered this for a second, then: "The second episode of the third season…" she said.

"Homecoming."

"You know it?"

"Off by heart," he said.

She stepped closer. He didn't move away. When she spoke again, her voice was deeper, and there was heartbreak in her eyes.

"_So, we're friends, and then we're a couple, and then we're friends, and then we're a couple…"_

Finn knew what she was doing. Knew it, and ached because of it. But he joined in anyway.

"_So…?"_

"_So, what are we now?"_ asked Rachel.

Finn shrugged. _"We're Dawson and Joey."_

Rachel tried to smile. Tried and failed.

"_Do you think every Joey has a Dawson, and every Dawson has a Joey?"_

"_I hope so," _said Finn, _"For their sake…"_

They didn't notice the piano player – Brad, his name is Brad – watching them from the doorway. He was shaking his head.

And smiling.

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	7. Made Weak

**Made Weak**

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_May 25, 2011 – Somewhere in New York – 23:35_

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Kurt almost tripped over the homeless man sleeping in the doorway, as he tried to read the text message and walk at the same time. He hastily apologised, but the man just hitched up his raggedy blanket and sent Kurt on his way with a curse.

"Charming man, great city…" Kurt muttered, and hurried on.

To call the message vague would be an understatement. Not only could Finn barely spell to begin with, but Kurt was fairly sure he was drunk, because one of the texts read: _"stret sins lil hazey"_.

So Kurt tried to piece together the route he'd taken when he'd texted Kurt to come pick him up, kind of like a scavenger hunt across one of the biggest, most densely-populated cities in the world in the middle of the night.

Their hotel was near Times Square, so he started from there. That was easy enough. It was a bit more difficult following Finn's next clue, which was _"past th big $$ red truk!"_ Kurt stood outside the Scientology Centre on 48th street, thoroughly confused, until he spotted it. The Fire Station.

After that it was a matter of interpreting the rest of the clues and praying as hard as possible.

"_cute lil church with native-indian baby Jesus."_ – sure enough, there was a manger display in a small church window, with the baby Jesus wearing a Native American headdress, for some reason.

Some were not so helpful: _"Past da Starbux!"_

"My God!" Kurt exclaimed, "I can see five from here!"

Others were very vague _"da place with da dizzi ponys."_

That turned out to be a park with a little carousel. Sure enough, they were ponies.

"Eventually, Kurt had progressed seven blocks, and was convinced he'd never find the last clue: _"Under the pretty tree," _when he heard it.

Singing.

Drunken singing.

"_When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that's… amoreeeeeeee!"_

With growing trepidation, Kurt turned a corner into a dark, tree-lined street. It was one thing that sort of bothered him about New York. He didn't expect there to be so many trees.

And sure, the main business thoroughfares didn't really have them; Wall Street was barren, as was Times Square and Rockefeller Centre only had the Christmas tree, but once you stepped off the big avenues, into the little side streets, the neighbourhoods were really pretty.

It bothered him, and made him love the place even more. Cemented his determination to move here after graduation.

A little ways up the street, there was a gap between the buildings. Right in the centre was a large tree – Kurt couldn't tell what kind, but it looked old. At its base were two benches, and along the walls of the buildings adjoining this strange little oasis, someone had planted an herb and flower garden.

Kurt could smell jasmine. They bloomed at night, and mixed with the heady scent of the city, it was intoxicating.

He found Finn kneeling on a bench, with his face pressed right up against the tree. He was still singing.

"_New York, New York…. Dah-dah-dah-dah, somethin' somethin'… New York!"_

"Finn?"

Finn swung toward the sound of Kurt's voice, and a big goofy smile broke out on his face.

"Kurt!" he declared, "Hey! What're you doin' here?"

"Er… you texted me." Kurt reminded him.

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did."

"Did not!"

Kurt noticed the empty beer cans littering the floor around the bench. He counted seven of them. Which meant Finn had already plowed through his first six-pack, and was busy on the next. In fact, he had one in his hand, which he took a long slug out of, before crumpling the can and chucking it on the ground.

"Don' worry," said Finn, noticing where he was looking, "I'll clean up before I go to bed."

"You're not sleeping here," said Kurt.

"Why not?" asked Finn, "It's so… peaceful here. Don'tcha think? It's peaceful. It's nice."

"Yes, it's peaceful," said Kurt, edging closer, "But I'm sure you'd rather be in your comfy bed back at the hotel."

"Naw!" Finn disagreed, "I'm stayin' here! With our tree!"

"Your tree?"

"Yeah! It's ours! Or… or it's gonna be ours! It's our… whatchacallit? Our future-tree!"

"Right," Kurt had to battle not to roll his eyes, "Your future-tree."

"Yeah! See? It's got our future on it!"

"Finn, where did you get the beers?"

"Huh?"

"The beers."

"Oh, that was easy!" Finn waved off the question with a decidedly effeminate gesture, "You know those steps that go down into the buildings?"

"Yes?"

"You know most of 'em sell stuff?"

"Oh, Lord…" Kurt's mind was suddenly filled with the image of the clean-cut Finn Hudson wandering into a crack den.

"Yeah, and they sell the coolest stuff too," Finn insisted, "I got the beers, an' some ninja stars!"

"What?"

Finn showed him his other hand. True to his word, he was holding a ninja star.

Finn turned away again, giving the tree his full attention. Now Kurt could see he was doing something to it with the ninja star. Morbid curiosity overcame him, and he closed the distance so he was standing by his brother's side.

"What are you doing?"

"I tol' you," said Finn, "The tree's got our future."

"Who's future? Me and you?"

Finn laughed. Hard. "Naw!" he said, again, "You're cute, but you're my brother! Plus… plus plus plus plus…. Blaine scares me a lil…"

It was hard for Kurt not to laugh himself at that. But Finn had his attention now. He studied his profile. Though Finn was smiling, there was a tightness there.

A sadness.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?" this time Finn didn't look at him, engrossed in his task.

"What happened tonight?" asked Kurt, "On your date with Rachel?"

The smile disappeared. "Don' wanna talk about it," Finn mumbled.

Kurt sighed. He'd been afraid of this. Ever since Finn dumped Quinn after Coach Sylvester's sister's funeral – _great timing there, big bro! – _he'd been hot in pursuit of Rachel again. But the young ingénue had refocused herself on her dreams.

And now, being here, in the city that was home to those dreams, Kurt was afraid Finn didn't stand a chance. Apparently, he was right.

"Listen, Finn, I know you're hurting now, but…"

"You know our motto on the football team?" Finn interrupted him.

Kurt was thrown. It took him a moment to scroll back through his memories to his brief time on the team, but eventually he recalled it:

"No retreat, no surrender?"

"Right!" said Finn, "You know we were full o' crap, right? On the field we gave up, like, all the time! This one… this one time we pretended we were the band, just so we wouldn't have to play."

"And what does this have to do with…?"

"I'm not givin' up on her!"

And there it was.

Kurt stepped back and looked around. The lights and sounds of the city seemed muted here – softer, somehow. Like this really was a place apart. He looked up. Such was the quiet dark, that he could almost see the stars. And then there was that smell… heavenly jasmine.

He sighed again, and took his brother by the arm. Surprisingly. Finn didn't resist. He stepped back off the bench, dropping the ninja star, which hit the wood with a metallic clunk. Kurt picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't want some kid finding it.

"Come on," he urged Finn, turning him to the mouth of the little lot.

"Where're we goin'?" asked Finn.

"We're gonna get you to bed."

"I tol' you," said Finn, "Blaine scares me."

Kurt chuckled, and led him towards the sidewalk. They turned, back towards the East Side, when:

"Hey! It's Rachel!" Finn declared.

Rachel was standing in the lee of the building, hunkered in shadow. Kurt studied her face. She looked worried. She must have followed him.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

"I'll take care of him," Kurt assured her.

"Thank you."

"Hey, Rache! That one!" Finn pointed at the building she was leaning against, "Someday, Rache! That one!"

"Okay, Finn," she said, humouring him.

Finn nodded triumphantly, then set off down the street on his own. He weaved from side to side, narrowly missing a lamppost.

"I better get after him," said Kurt.

"Do you know what he was talking about?" asked Rachel.

"No idea," Kurt admitted, "Something about the tree holding our future."

With that, Kurt hurried off to rescue Finn, who was trying to curl up and sleep on a garbage can.

Rachel didn't follow. Instead, she entered the glade tucked between the brick buildings, noting the same magical aspects that Kurt had picked up on.

The flowers. The understated gloaming. The hint of stars.

She approached the tree. She had to get up close to see what Finn had been doing.

Carving.

Like a little kid, Finn had carved something into the tree. With a ninja star. When Rachel saw what it was, she felt her heart break a little.

It was a giant heart, and in the centre the words…

"_FINN LUVS RACHEL 4EVA!"_

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	8. Time & Fate

**Time & Fate**

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_November 11, 2011 – Hummel Living Room – 00:40_

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Cravings.

As Finn propped a couple of pillows against the base of the couch, and laid back, enjoying the soothing heat of the fire, he wondered if all girls had weird cravings afterward.

With Santana, she'd wanted a hamburger.

And now, Rachel was making waffles. Past midnight.

He could hear her clanging around in the kitchen.

"Need any help in there?" he called, silently praying she'd say no. He was just _soooo_… comfortable.

"Who arranged this kitchen?" Rachel called, "Your mom, or Kurt?"

"Kurt."

"I thought so. It reeks of his OCD!"

"Kurt's not OCD!" Finn felt the strange need to defend his brother.

"You know where I found the batter? In the cupboard with the blender!"

"It's alphabetical!"

"And that doesn't strike you as strange?"

Finn decided not to argue the point further. He supposed he was just used to Kurt's eccentricities by now. They'd been living in the same house for a year. You can get used to anything. Like how the bathroom they shared always smelled like oranges, and the towel was never on the floor where he kept it.

After a little while, Finn smelled the pungent, but alluring aroma of baking batter wafting out of the kitchen. He moaned. Rachel was humming. Not any specific tune, just a happy little ditty. He moaned again.

If he'd ever been happier than tonight, he didn't know it.

He could scarcely believe the dark place he'd been trapped in just over an hour ago. Sitting by himself, cursing Cooter Menkins and every football recruiter ever for their callous habit of puncturing dreams.

And then… Rachel was at the door. That was how it was supposed to happen, right? In love stories? Your angel showing up, just when you need them.

"_Now I'm just a girl, here with a boy that she loves, and… wanting to remember this moment for the rest of her life."_

Finn would remember it too. He was sure of that. As sure as he'd ever been of anything. It wasn't his first time, but it was his first time with Rachel, and that was the most important thing of all.

"I hope you're hungry."

Rachel emerged from the kitchen, carrying a large platter. She wore nothing but his shirt, unbuttoned in the front.

It was maddening. The flow of the shirt offered tantalizing glimpses of her thighs, her bellybutton, the soft under-curve of her breasts. Like a magic show. Now you see it, now you don't.

He wanted to rip the shirt off.

She folded down beside him, sitting cross-legged on top of the blanket, moving with a grace that testified to her ballet training. There were other ways she'd testified to that tonight…

Finn shook his head, and grabbed a waffle.

"Wait!" Rachel slapped his hand away.

"Ow! What was that for?"

In lieu of an answer, she picked up the can of whipped cream also on the platter, and squirted out a large dollop over the surface of the waffle. It quickly melted straight into the buttery treat, and she added a healthy dose of syrup on top.

Finn took a bite.

He moaned. Again. He was doing that a lot.

"Good?"

"Second best thing I've tasted tonight."

"Finn!" she gasped.

She looked so funny, her mouth hanging open, while the sleeve of his shirt slid off her shoulder. She made no move to replace it, completely unabashed. And yet, here she was, gasping at a little innuendo.

Finn found it adorable.

He just watched her, mesmerized, as she tucked into her own waffle. When a trace of syrup escaped out of the side of her mouth and ran down her chin, he licked it off.

"Do you feel different?" she asked.

"Why? Don't you?"

Finn flashed back to that night in the motel with Santana. He hadn't felt any different. Because it didn't mean anything. And he was suddenly terrified Rachel would feel the same way.

"Because I do," she went on, and he breathed again, "I finally feel like… I'm inside my body. I know that sounds weird, and I haven't spent the last 18 years having one long out-of-body experience, but… I dunno, it feels like I'm finally at home in my own skin."

"I feel different too," said Finn.

"You do?"

He nodded. "I feel hot."

"That's the fire."

"No, I'm serious," he pressed, "I felt it when you were in the kitchen. This heat at my back, and then as you came closer, it shifted, moving with you, so now this whole side of my body feels…"

"Hot…" she breathed.

Finn forgot the waffles.

He leaned closer. His lips brushed against hers, soft as the passing of a butterfly. Her mouth opened up to him. Her tongue was heavy and coated in syrup and it set off fireworks in his head.

She had the platter on her lap and Finn grabbed it, not thinking, not caring, ready to fling it across the room. The little jar with the syrup in it tipped over, spilling down the front of the shirt she wore.

"Dammit!" said Rachel.

She put the tray down – carefully – then whipped the shirt off.

Finn stopped breathing.

Rachel studied his face. Long seconds passed, and her expression dissolved into a worried frown.

"Are you okay?"

Finn nodded. It was all he could do. His throat had closed completely. Rachel's eyes widened as he slowly turned blue.

"Breathe, Finn, breathe!"

She grabbed his face, yanking his mouth open and he gasped in a lungful of air.

"Sorry…" he muttered, "Sorry, it's just… You look… Sorry."

"Are you going to react like this everytime you see me naked?" she asked.

"I didn't the first time," he said, a tad defensive.

"The first time?"

Finn clammed up. He leaned past her and grabbed another waffle, stuffing it in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk.

"What are you…?" then it hit her, "The showers! Sophomore year! That was you?"

Finn tried not to look guilty, and failed absolutely miserably.

"You know I've never been able to shower at school again since that night?" she said, "I thought I had some weird pervert stalker! I thought it was Jacob!"

"It was an accident," said Finn.

"It was the girls' locker room!"

"Okay, an elaborate accident!"

She glared at him. The problem was, he found this adorable now too, and he said so.

That's when Rachel grabbed the syrup jug and emptied half of it over his head. Finn gasped as the sickly sweet syrup dripped down his face, down the back of his neck, getting into places it really had no business going.

"Why you…!"

He snatched up the can of whipped cream and started shaking it.

"Oh, no!" Rachel wagged a finger at him, "Don't you dare!"

Finn opened it up full-bore, right in her face. She squealed, until the jet emptied out into her mouth and she gagged. Rachel scooped up a waffle and buried it in Finn's face, rolling her hands clockwise, filling his nose with crumbs. He took another waffle and broke it apart in her hair.

Then they sat there, spitting out syrup and cream and pieces of waffle and stared at each other. Smiling.

"You look delicious," said Finn.

"So do you," said Rachel, "And I guess it would be rude not to sample the menu, right?"

"Right."

She kissed him again. The syrup and cream mixed with their sweat, causing a sticky paste that bonded them together. They didn't mind.

Rachel slid the blanket down, and swung a leg over so she was straddling him, never once breaking the kiss. She moved like liquid…

Like chaos.

"Promise me something," she whispered, their lips still so close it was like he was breathing her.

"What?" he asked, his eyes firmly closed, his whole body trembling.

"It will always be like this…"

He lost himself in her. In every part of her. He could sense every movement she made before she made it. He'd memorized the curve of her neck where it opened up on her shoulder, like the brushstroke of a grand master. The kink of her crooked smile, like a rush of ink. He curled his fingers through the strands of her hair and cursed silk for its inadequacies.

And that heat… that warmth that put the fire to shame, that he knew would sustain him the rest of his days…

"I promise," he said.

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	9. Strong In Will

**Strong in Will**

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_February 23, 2012 – Greater Lima Memorial Hospital – 23:00_

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It took her three days before she was willing to talk.

For those three days after Quinn regained consciousness, the only time she'd speak was to ask for water, or more meds to manage the pain. The rest of the time, she'd just lay in that hospital bed, staring at the dull beige walls and contemplating a life where she might never walk again.

The Glee Club took turns holding vigil.

The nursing staff had long since given up trying to apply regular visiting hours to them. One by one, they'd sit by her bedside, just to show her that they were there.

Mercedes brought magazines, and read them aloud. Artie serenaded her with the complete discography of Mark. E. Mark and the Funky Bunch. The doctor's were unanimous in their amazement that that didn't provoke a reaction. Puck acted out scenes from his surprisingly vast comic book collection. His speciality was his Jughead Jones impression. Brittany brought Lord Tubbington to work a voodoo spell on Quinn's legs and freaked out the entire staff.

But nobody was there more than Rachel and Finn.

They'd delayed the wedding. They didn't even discuss it. They both knew that there was no way they'd take their vows without Quinn there. They traded off the night shift, sleeping on those uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs.

On the third night after she woke up, Finn was trying to fall asleep in the chair. He had to fold himself almost in half just to fit, but he didn't care. The plastic arm dug a painful groove into his shoulder, but he didn't care. The tiny blanket Rachel had brought barely offered any warmth, but he didn't care.

He shifted this way and that, trying to find the least uncomfortable position. He kept his eyes resolutely shut, trying to will himself to sleep.

"This is ridiculous. You should just go home."

Finn fell out of the chair. He hit the ground with a loud smack. There was laughter from the bed.

"Hey," said Finn, from the floor, "Why are you up? You need to rest. Do you need more meds? Do you need me to call the nurse?"

"I'm fine," said Quinn, "For now."

Finn levered himself up off the floor, and came to stand beside her. Instinctively, he took her hand. She didn't pull away.

"At least you're talking," he said.

"My legs are broken, not my vocal chords."

"Coulda fooled us, these past few days."

"I wanted some quiet," she said, "To think."

"And you expected the Glee Club to be quiet?" he was incredulous, "What are you? New?"

She smiled. "Its just been hard to process everything," she said.

"Quinn, I'm so–"

"Don't say you're sorry," Quinn cut him off, "Please. I don't think I could handle that."

"Okay."

"It's not your fault. And it's not Rachel's either. Please tell her that. Everytime she's here, she just keeps crying. It's kinda bumming me out."

"You should tell her yourself."

"She'll listen to you."

"Rachel only listens to me when she wants to. The rest of the time…" he shrugged.

"You two are so cute together," said Quinn, "It's a little unfair, actually."

Finn didn't respond to that. He was a uncomfortable, and shuffled his feet, his eyes not meeting hers.

"Your dad's arranged for a specialist to see you," he said, eventually, "Some guy who does something with orthopedic somethings… I dunno, I didn't really follow it. But he's going to help you."

"We'll see," she said, non-committal.

"Don't give up," Finn urged her, "You will walk again. You're Quinn Fabray! This won't beat you."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"What?"

"My name. Even when we were dating, you did that a lot. Said my full name."

"I like your name."

"So do I, but I don't go around pronouncing it like I'm the Queen of the Nile, or something."

"Sorry," said Finn, "I'll stop."

There was silence for a while. Quinn turned to stare at the walls again, and Finn was afraid she'd retreated back into her shell. But then:

"I figured something out," she said, "Can't do much but think about stuff when you're stuck in a bed, but it gave me the chance to work out why… why…"

"Why what?"

"Why I was so against you getting married."

"We don't have to talk about this."

"I'm not going to break, Finn," she said, "I'm Quinn Fabray, remember?"

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm a selfish person," she said. She did this in a flat monotone that bothered him, but he kept quiet. Sensing she was only getting started. "I don't think I ever got over what happened last year. Losing you to Rachel. A part of me realised you were the best guy I knew, and I think… I didn't want to see you get married, because then I'd have to admit that I lost."

"Wait," Finn was confused, "Are you saying–?"

"I'll always love you, Finn. But not the way she does. I think that's why Rachel and I fought so much from the very beginning. She looked at you, and saw what was best in you. I looked at you, and saw what you could do for me. Yes, it's love. But not the good kind."

"That's crap!"

"Finn–"

"No!" he didn't know why he was suddenly angry, "What we had was real. And it was special. And I'm not going to let you lie here and pretend it wasn't."

"Sweet boy…"

She reached up, and slowly stroked his cheek with her thumb. Her touch was gentle and sad.

"I'm ready now," she said, "One benefit of playing chicken with a truck and losing, it gives you some perspective. I think I'm finally ready to let you go. And now I can look for my Rachel. The person that sees past the cheerleader, and loves me anyway."

"You'll find him," said Finn, "You're too awesome not to."

"The medication's kicking in," said Quinn, "Feeling… drowsy."

"Okay," Finn tapped her pillow, fluffing it so she'd be more comfortable, "I'll be right here."

"Okay. Gonna sleep now. But first… can you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Sing for me. The way you sing for her."

Finn clutched at her hand, and felt her squeeze back. He eased himself up onto the bed beside her, never letting go. And he sang.

"_I can hear your voice,_

_Ring of yesterday._

_It seems so close to me,_

_And yet so far away. _

_I should let it out,_

_To save what's left of me._

_And close the door so I,_

_May find my dignity._

_But I can't go on,_

_As long as I believe,_

_Can't let go, _

_When I keep wondering…"_

She was drifting. But there was a slight smile on her lips. The ghost of a smile, really. It would have to be enough.

"_I should let it out,_

_It's time to let you go._

_Oh baby, I just want to know…_

_Where are you now?_

_What have you found?_

_Where is your heart,_

_When I'm not around?_

_Where are you now?_

_You gotta let me know._

_So I can let you go…"_

Sleep took her. She looked so peaceful. An angel touched by moonlight. Finn went back to the hard plastic chair, ready to wait out another night.

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	10. To Strive, To Seek, To Find

**To Strive, To Seek, To Find**

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_July 04, 2012 – Rachel Berry's Apartment – 20:00_

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Rachel knew she was lucky in so many ways.

New York was everything she had dreamed it would be. That was somewhat of a surprise because dreams that vast, that cherished, held close for so long, should not be possible.

Yet, it was.

Two months in the city, and she already had a routine. Every morning, she'd buy a coffee and a bagel from the vendor on the corner - a charming, constantly smiling man named Jeshua – then walk the two blocks to Tiffany's, where she'd enjoy her breakfast. Reliving that giddy conversation with Kurt in what seemed another lifetime, when Broadway was a distant star she had yet to reach for.

Then she'd make her way to Times Square. Sometimes she'd just stand on the sidewalk getting swept up in the chaos. Her eyes cast upwards, drinking in the glorious neon of all those lights that put the sun to shame.

She'd made a point of befriending – or downright annoying – many of the doormen who stood guard at the multitude of theatres ringing the Square. But, and here was another surprising thing about New York, many of them were exceedingly kind, and often an extra bagel and coffee would grant her access to these inner sanctums. She'd sit in the back row – always the back, so she could feel the whole theatre – and put on musicals in her mind. She imagined the bright costumes, the choreographed lighting, the dances, the voices… Whole productions playing out inside her heart.

At night, she'd return to her dorm room. NYADA was located in midtown, and she'd been lucky enough to be granted a street-facing room pointing south. Across the street, they'd recently demolished an old building, and had not yet started construction on a new one.

So, on nights like tonight, she could sit at her window and enjoy an uninterrupted view down the length of the Avenue of the Americas – the glittering spire of the Empire State Building winking at her in the distance.

Tonight, there was the extra treat of distant fireworks from Coney Island, as thousands of her fellow New Yorkers – she loved that, _fellow_ New Yorkers – celebrated the nation's birthday.

Yes, Rachel was very aware of how lucky she was.

So… why did she feel so sad?

Her phone rang. It startled her out of her reverie, and she swept up the vibrating cellphone, her mind instantly locking onto one thing: _Finn!_

Everytime it rang, she prayed it was him. She ached – physically ached – to hear his voice at any given moment on any given day. Two months apart had not stripped the longing from her soul.

It wasn't Finn. It was:

"Hey, Quinn."

"Oh, my God! You would not believe what the bitch did!" Quinn decided to forego a greeting.

Rachel sighed. "What?"

"She got her dad to pull some strings and got herself set up in this single-living McMansion in Kenwin Hall! Can you believe that? The freakin' place has a freakin' living room!"

"So why aren't you happy?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, I did," said Rachel, patiently, "But you've been complaining about this roommate of yours for a month. Yes, it's unfair, but at least you won't have to live with her anymore."

"Huh…" Quinn was silent for a few seconds, then, "I guess you have a point."

"What would you do without me?" asked Rachel, only half-joking.

"I'd go crazy," said Quinn, "It feels like I have to start all over again."

Rachel scooted up off the windowsill, and went to turn on the tiny kettle her dads had bought her. She set about making coffee with already-practiced movements; grabbing a cup, a spoon, the can of instant, the sugar, the milk, all from their spots that were already so familiar.

"That's kind of the point of college," she said.

"That's not what I mean," said Quinn, "I feel like I'm stuck in this terrible loop where I'm repeating the same horrible mistakes from sophomore year. I thought college would be different. That's why I came to campus early. But it's the same narrow-minded people. Forming their little cliques. Judging everyone else without taking a second to get to know them. What if I become that person again, Rachel? That horrible cheerleader who posted all those insulting messages on your MySpace page?"

"That was you?"

"Er…"

Rachel let it go. "You won't," she said.

"How do you know?"

"Because you had Glee."

And there it was. The truth of it. Quinn knew it, and Rachel heard her sigh with relief.

"Thanks," said Quinn, "Have you heard from him?"

"No," said Rachel, her heart suddenly plummeting, "It's been ten days."

"I'm sure he'll call soon."

"Yeah."

"They're still saying he's not available?"

"Talking to those sergeants at the base is like trying to communicate with a particularly dull brick," she said, not bothering to hide the bitterness.

"Well, let me know when he gets hold of you."

"I will," said Rachel, "And think about my suggestion. Come up here before classes start. There's so much I want to show you."

"I will. Night, Rachel. Happy fourth."

"To you too."

Rachel hung up, and finished making the coffee. Her mind drifted as she stirred the steaming brew. As always, it drifted back to that final moment… the last time she saw Finn.

She was on the train. He was outside with all their friends. He smiled a quirky little smile, and waved like a kid – that little flapping motion with his fingers. Too adorable.

And then the train started moving. He ran after it. Not to catch it – she knew that – just… just to keep her in sight. For only three more seconds, if possible. Three more seconds of her face, even though that could never be enough.

And then the train sped up, and he was gone.

She hadn't spoken to him in ten days. A sudden, unexpected silence had fallen between them, and the distance to Georgia now felt like the gulf to the moon.

Her phone rang again.

Once more, her heart did a little skip as she thought, _Finn!_

This time she glanced at the screen. She didn't recognize the number, and so she answered tentatively.

"Hello?"

"Rachel?"

It was a woman's voice. Strangely high-pitched, with that nails on a chalkboard quality.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Silly! Don't you recognize my voice?"

"Sorry," said Rachel, "Should I?"

"It's Marcia!"

"Marcia who?"

"Marcia O'Grady! Astronomy Club! We were, like, best friends sophomore year?"

"Oh, right. Marcia."

Rachel's voice was flat. Best friends was hardly how she would describe their relationship. Bitter, twisted enemies was more like it. But then she remembered what she'd said to Quinn. She'd had Glee too, and that experience had taught her that everybody had something special, something wonderful to offer.

"So, I heard you're in the Big A, just like me!" said Marcia, "And I thought, I totes gots to get your digits so we can hook up!"

Rachel was a little blindsided by the Irish girl's sudden switch to sounding like a bad Lil' Kim impersonator, and immediately changed her opinion. Maybe not everyone had that to offer.

"You're in New York?"

"I'm studying in the Bronx, and I figured, I gots to chase these bad streets with my ol' BFF! When are you free?"

"I… I, uh…" Rachel spluttered, "Uh, Marcia, is this your number?"

"This be my personal cellie!"

"I'll tell you what, let me check my schedule in the morning, and I'll give you a call," said Rachel, making a mental, never-to-be-erased note, not to ever answer a call coming from this number again.

"Schuweet!" Marcia sounded way too excited, "Holler at me on the other side, aiight?"

"Okay. Bye."

Rachel put the phone down like it had suddenly grown hot in her hand. She retreated back to the window, and the city lights.

James Blake proclaimed to trip the light fantastic on the sidewalks of New York. Oriana Fallaci said the whole world was here. Rachel couldn't agree with the second part. Finn wasn't here, and that made this bustling city so unbelievably empty.

She groaned aloud when the phone rang again. This time, her thoughts didn't fly to Finn, but to Marcia. Surely the ditzy girl hadn't figured out that Rachel wouldn't be calling so soon. Was she looking to set a firm date? How in the world would Rachel shut her down?

Maybe she should embrace her true New Yorkness, she thought, and just tell her to go to hell.

It was a private number. Rachel shut her eyes, and shook her head.

"Listen, Marcia, I don't–"

"Marcia?"

His voice hit her like a hammer. Sliced straight to the centre of her like a warm dagger. It whipped the breath from her lungs, and she sank slowly onto the rickety bed, careful to put her coffee down before she dropped the mug.

"Finn?"

"Sorry I haven't called."

The connection was clear, but still, he sounded distant. Rachel wished she could reach right through the phone, across the airwaves, and grab hold of him. Hold him close, and never let go again. Tell him they both made a mistake when she got on that train. But, instead, she said:

"It's okay. How are you?"

"Not great," Finn admitted, "It's been… hard."

"It's the Army, Finn," she reminded him, "I think it's supposed to be."

"It's not that," said Finn, "Training is… well, it's like football camp with guns. I can handle it. But…"

"What?"

"I can't handle missing you anymore."

Silence drew out between them like a blade in the night. A strange bitterness seeped into her. Suddenly, she wanted to scream at him. Tell him that if he missed her, he never should have made her leave.

But what was the point of that? He'd only done what he thought was right. He'd set her free because he loved her, and she couldn't hold that against him.

He seemed to read her thoughts. "I'm sorry," he said, "For sending you away. I'm sorry I didn't give you a choice."

Rachel bit her lip, determined not to cry. "It's okay," she said, "It's working out. I love it here."

"What do you love most about it?"

"What?"

"I wanna see it through your eyes," he said, "Describe it to me. It'll make me feel… closer to you."

"Well, it's… it's New York," said Rachel, "You've seen it. You felt that energy."

"Yeah."

"The people are a constant surprise. You get polite hobos and stock brokers that'll run you over without a backward glance. Hippies wearing Rolexes and high school students spending all their time playing jump rope in the street outside. There's something new every day, and yet the whole city feels so familiar."

"Sounds like the only place good enough for you," he said.

Rachel lost the battle. Her tears came and, with it, the hurt.

"The only place good enough for me is by your side," she said.

He was quiet for so long, she was afraid she'd lost the call. But then she heard him breathing. It was hitched, and she imagined he was crying too. A little.

"I'm glad you said that."

"What?"

She was sure she hadn't heard him right. "What did you say?"

This time she checked the screen when there was no answer. Sure enough, the call had ended. She was caught between the urge to call him back or chuck the phone across the room, when:

There was a knock at the door.

She got up off the bed. Her coffee was getting cold on the nightstand. She was in her pajamas already, and her socks made no noise as she shuffled across the floor to open it.

And there he was.

Still clutching his phone with one hand, the other planted against the frame of the door, like he had to hold himself up. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder, with "Property of the U.S Army" stenciled on the side. His head was shaved, with a few bristles slowly growing back.

She took all this in – the slight and greater changes – how stooped his shoulders were, and how alight his eyes – and yet she couldn't believe it.

It was like he was a mirage.

"What are you–?"

"Marry me," he said, "Forget everything I told you. Everything I did. Pretend I never hurt you like that, I beg you! Rachel, please! These past few months, I might as well have died. I can't be away from you another second. And I won't be, if you just give me the chance to–"

"Shut up!" she said.

He blinked, and raised himself up to his full height. He took half a step back, suddenly afraid.

"What?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

And so he did.

As their lips found each other – that place where they belonged – there was a loud bang outside their window. They barely noticed. Some ragamuffin kid, one of thousands in the city, had defied all laws and let off a firecracker in the alley just opposite. It burst outside the glass, sending the world into a spiral of dancing light.

The kiss lasted forever, as outside the window, the streets of New York tripped the light fantastic.

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	11. Not To Yield

A:N/ So... this is it. I feel like I rediscovered my Finchel side in the writing of this. I hope so, because, as a couple on glee, they've given us everything. Ups, downs and everything in between. Finchel's journey, is glee's journey, and I hope I've done my part in capturing a piece of that here. And so... onto...

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**Not To Yield**

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_August 31, 2017 – Finchel's Apartment – 15:00_

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"Give her to me," said Kurt, when the baby started crying.

Blaine looked absolutely distressed. Even his perfectly coifed hair seemed to be coming undone with each high-pitched wail from the newborn's mouth. As soon as Kurt got near, he passed her on like a hot potato.

"Take her, please!" he begged.

Kurt took the baby, and cradled her gently in his arms. Rocking her back and forth with easy grace, and she stilled.

"You just took the wrong one, Blaine," said Quinn, who was making ga-ga faces at a second, identical baby propped up in her lap, "Jo's been precocious since the moment she was born."

"How dare you say that?" It was Rachel, yelling from the little kitchenette. She was behind the stove, her apron covering her still-swollen belly – looking every inch Martha's Stewart's wet dream.

"It's true," Quinn shrugged, then started jiggling the baby in front of her, "But this little one's just the most well-behaved, sweetest, most-gifted, charming, friendliest –"

"I'm gonna puke," said Santana, from a nearby armchair, where she was sipping on a scotch.

"Shut up!" said Quinn.

"It's your fault, Rachel!" Blaine chided her, sitting down cross-legged on the floor in between Kurt's legs, as he settled on the couch with baby Jo.

"My fault?" Rachel huffed, "How do you figure that?"

"You named that one Quinn!"

"Please, Blaine, keep referring to my baby as _that one!_"

"So Quinn's all sweet when she's with…" Blaine flapped a hand, "Quinn! But Jo feels out, coz she's not named after any of us!"

"Er… hello!" Joe raised his hand from the corner, where he was trying to connect Finn's over-complicated – yet, supposedly wireless – surround sound system.

"Are you really taking credit for a girl's name?" asked Puck, who was kneeling beside Joe, trying to find out where the amp was connected.

"She's Jo, I'm Joe," Joe shrugged, "I'm just sayin'…"

"I love my little godchild! How's my little godchild?" Kurt wiggled his fingers in front of little Jo's face, and the baby giggled.

"How does that work?" asked Brittany. She had her head in Santana's lap, and was sipping on a pinha colada. "Can you have a godchild?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kurt.

"Well, you're gay."

"So?"

"So, that loud guy on TV says gays don't believe in God, so can you have a godchild?"

"Anyone else wanna field this one?" asked Sam. He was in the kitchen with Rachel, chopping vegetables.

Nobody volunteered, and Brittany let it go.

"I'm a godfather where it counts," said Kurt, "I'm going to be the one who takes her to her first Ice-capades…"

"Well, _I'm_ taking _my_ godchild to her first live cheerleading competition," said Quinn, not to be outdone.

"I'm going to teach Jo how to braid her hair," said Kurt.

"And I'm going to teach Quinn how to put on make-up," said Quinn.

"I can do that too!" Kurt protested.

Quinn stuck her tongue out at him. At that exact moment, little Quinn blew a raspberry: _"Bbbrrrrrssssp!"_ Kurt was sure it was on purpose.

"Well, fact of the matter is, it's up to us to teach 'em what counts," said Kurt. He held baby Jo up, so they were face-to-face, and then, in a grave voice, said, "Jo… you see… you take the good, you… you take the bad, and… when you take 'em both… there you have the facts of life."

"Kurt!"

Blaine laughed first. Kurt kept his expression blank – exceedingly serious – for as long as he could, before he started laughing too. Mercedes, who'd entered the room just as he made his pronouncement, was cackling.

"You did _not_ just quote the theme song from The Facts of Life!" she giggled.

"Seemed appropriate," said Kurt, "Her name is Jo, after all."

"You know what I find interesting?" said Artie, trying to steal a slice of the pie Rachel had just set out, and getting a slap on the hand for his troubles, "Why you'd quote that at all? None of us were even born when that show was on."

"Hmm…" said Blaine.

"Yeah…" Mike mused.

"It's like _we're _characters on a show," said Tina, "And the writers are much older than us, and keep making these obscure references to things that people our age wouldn't ever know."

They all stared at her. For like, a good thirty seconds. She blushed.

"Where's Finn?" asked Rachel, removing her apron, "Lunch is almost ready."

"I'll find him," said Kurt, "I think I know where he is."

He stood, but not before transferring Jo into Blaine's arms again. He still looked nervous.

"Better get used to it," said Kurt, "If we're going to have one of these one day."

"Whoah," said Blaine, "We've only been together six years. Quit rushing me."

Jo laughed. A genuine little baby laugh. Blaine seemed delighted.

Kurt left the apartment. The sounds of the gang squabbling followed him all the way down the hall to the stairs. Kurt found the sound comforting. The good-natured bickering was part and parcel of what made the Glee Club such a close group – even after all these years. Even after they'd all moved on, lived in different cities, started careers and marriages… they were always there for each other.

Like today. Finn and Rachel hosting a simple lunch for their friends, to welcome the twins home.

Kurt stepped through the front door of the building and into the relatively quiet street. Finn and Rachel were lucky. Finding an apartment in New York that wasn't constantly bombarded with the sounds of people, cars, street musicians and loons, was nothing short of a miracle.

He turned right, heading across the face of the building, until he came to a gap that separated it from the next building in line. It wasn't an alley. It was an alcove, of sorts.

There was a tree in the middle, with two benches flanking it. Herbs and flowers were planted at the base of the walls. It always smelled sweet here. Like jasmine.

Kurt found his brother on the bench, staring at nothing, just smiling.

"Rachel says lunch is ready," said Kurt, as he approached.

Finn nodded, but gave no other response. Kurt came to a stop next to him, and just looked at Finn.

He'd changed over the years. Those babyish features of his had hardened. He wore his hair much longer now. He was also even broader in the shoulder, and carried himself like the soldier he never was. But one thing hadn't changed – that good-humoured light in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" asked Kurt.

"Just… remembering," said Finn.

"Remembering what?"

"Everything."

"Okaaaaay," Kurt intentionally drew out the last syllable, "Way to be specific."

"I remember the first time I saw her," said Finn. His voice had taken on a dreamlike quality. He still wasn't looking at Kurt. Instead, his eyes were fixed on a point – or perhaps, a time – unseen. "It was in the choir room at McKinley. Only, she was using it for an Astronomy Club meeting. Do you know the difference between an asteroid and an asterism?"

"No."

"Neither did I til that night."

"Finn, what's–?"

But his brother wasn't finished. "Then there was the time I saw her taking a shower. By accident! That… ridiculous play you made us put on. This tree…"

"What are you talking about?"

Finally, Finn turned to him. He was smiling. The smile was triumphant.

"I told you," he said.

"Told me what?"

"That our future was here."

"I don't know what you're–"

But Kurt stopped short. Suddenly, he was remembering too. A bizarre night errand, during the Glee Club's first tilt at Nationals. Finn drunk, and carving something into a tree. His eyes flashed to the bole of the tree at Finn's back, and there it was…

"_FINN LUVS RACHEL 4EVA!_"

"Oh, my God…"

Finn's smile hadn't wavered. "I knew it," he said, "I knew it that night, that this… this would be my life. Here. With her. With our kids. I knew it."

"You're a freak, you know that?" said Kurt.

"You're not the first to say that," said Finn.

"What are you two doing?"

The voice came from above. They looked up. Rachel was leaning out of a window in the wall facing the little glade. Her raven hair was mussed, falling around her face like a dark waterfall.

"We'll be up in a second!" Finn called.

"Well, hurry up!" said Rachel.

She was about to go back inside, when Finn called again. "Rachel!"

"Yeah?" she popped her head back out, an eyebrow cocked in question.

"I love you."

"For how long?" she countered.

"For forever," he answered.

She smiled. In that smile, Kurt saw the truth of his two best friends. The love that bound them, stronger than gravity, than fate, than maliciousness, than any random dream. Here were two people who looked at each other and saw nothing but hope and joy. And Kurt's heart leapt for the wonder of it.

"Come on," said Finn, rising to his feet, "Let's go see our friends."

His brother set off for home, and Kurt followed.

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End file.
